


In the Middle of the Night

by ThirdGenerationRockette



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: 3.01, Boston Bombing, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 08:03:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13736634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdGenerationRockette/pseuds/ThirdGenerationRockette
Summary: There's nobody with her, nobody listening, but she can't stop, all she can think is that there was a bomb and she should have spotted it yet clearly she didn't, and she keeps repeating her words over and over. Where's Jim? Where are their crew? What if they're all injured or...worse, because she didn't spot something she should have?





	In the Middle of the Night

It's making no sense. The explosions are getting louder, not quieter, even though she can't possibly be running towards it. She's not an idiot, if there's one thing she's learned while embedded it's that you never run _towards_ a bomb, always away from it, and as fast as humanly fucking possible. Unless...well, if the blast was bad enough, and she was close enough that her hearing has been messed up then maybe she's lost all sense of balance, of direction, but if that were the case then surely someone would be dragging her back, or at the very least she would hope they'd be trying.

Jim. Where the fucking hell is Jim?

She feels sick, genuinely, physically filled with the need to throw up, an urge she fights because there's no time for that kind of indulgence, not when she also feels the familiar hit of panic that comes with these sorts of situations starting to rise up in her chest.

She looks around but still nothing makes sense, it doesn't look like anywhere they've been before, it resembles neither Pakistan nor Afghanistan, and there's no sign of Jim, or any of her crew. It looks like...New York? No, maybe DC? Wherever she is (and why can't she remember where she is?!), she's pretty certain now that she's not in the Middle East, but she's equally certain that this is a bombing, without question. She's seen enough explosions, stumbled onto the aftermath of too many blast scenes to know what she's looking at here. There are people on the floor, confusion, smoke, screaming, sirens, but no film crew, nobody she recognises at all.

“I should have spotted it, I should have spotted it. Why didn't I spot something? How did I miss it?”

There's nobody with her, nobody listening, but she can't stop, all she can think is that there was a bomb and she should have spotted it yet clearly she didn't, and she keeps repeating her words over and over. Where's Jim? Where are their crew? What if they're all injured or...worse, because she didn't spot something she should have? Suddenly she's sitting down, she's at the edge of the road, her head between her legs, some logic somewhere in her brain telling her that the street shouldn't be spinning and she should sit down before she falls down, but the entire time she hears “I should have spotted it” coming out of her mouth on repeat. Then she hears a second voice, finally, proving two things; that her hearing is still intact, and that someone she knows – or at least someone who wants to help – is here.

“Mac...Mackenzie!” Ah, the voice knows her name, which fills her with relief, it means her crew is probably here and they're okay, or maybe it's Jim...but it doesn't sound like Jim, it sounds like...

“Mackenzie!” Her name again, the voice urgent now, and familiar, so familiar...”Honey, please.” 

Honey? Definitely not Jim. She feels a pair of hands on her shoulders, gently shaking her.

“You're fine, honey. You're okay, you're home,” the voice says, sounding worried, really worried.

“Home? I'm...home?” Her eyes fly open and the realisation that she was dreaming washes over her with a relief so strong she can't quite catch her breath.

“Hey...breathe, honey, _breathe_.” It's Will. Of course it's Will, and they're at home, he's right, they're in their construction site of an apartment, it's the middle of the night, and she's fine.

“I'm okay,” she says, slowly sitting up and throwing the bedding off, suddenly unable to deal with the weight of it holding her down. She takes three, maybe four deep breaths and then she turns to Will who is doing his best to look calm even as the terror behind his eyes threatens to betray him. “Shit. I'm...I'm alright.”

“What can I do?” he asks, his arms opening instinctively when she leans forward and buries her face into his chest, needing a few seconds to compose herself and knowing his arms around her will help.

“I...” When her breathing feels normal and she no longer has images of a blast site running through her mind she pulls back and gives him a shaky smile. “A drink. I need a drink.”

He runs a hand down her arm and squeezes her fingers before he disappears from the room, coming back in what feels like record time and standing at the side of the mattress with a glass in his hand.

“What's this?” She takes it from him, frowning slightly, confused.

“Scotch,” he says, returning her frown.

“It's...” She stops and grabs his arm, glancing at his watch in the dim light of the room. “Twelve minutes past four.”

“You said you needed a drink.” He shrugs and sits down beside her, his hand moving to her shoulder, his need to touch her apparently as strong as hers to be touched.

“Water, Will, I just needed _water_.” She smiles at him and he looks mildly sheepish, until she gulps the Scotch down and he returns her smile.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he says, quietly. “For a minute there, I wasn't sure I was going to be able to wake you.”

“Imagine how much fun it was when I first got back and didn't have you to wake me,” she says, remembering the early days, how frequent the nightmares were, and how she would have given anything to have him there to put his arms around her and offer reassurance. “It's a miracle my neighbours didn't get together and petition to have me removed from the building.”

He puts an arm around her shoulder and she leans in against him, grateful for the warm, solid comfort of his chest. She's not stupid, it's safe to assume the bombing in Boston today is what caused tonight's nightmare, yet it still caught her by surprise considering she hasn't had a nightmare in months and hadn't expected one tonight either.

“I wondered today if you were okay, but you know, you're Mackenzie, you're tough, but...I should have checked.” His hand squeezes her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. “I'm sorry.”

“You don't have anything to be sorry for,” she says, turning to look at him, noting the concern in his eyes. “What do you mean, you wondered if I was okay?”

“I guess...when we were in my office this morning...” He stops but she nods at him to go on, which he does with a faint sigh. “I didn't notice it, and God, we weren't even looking at the rolling feed, but you saw it, from across the bullpen, the explosion on the monitor-”

“Oh, you know me, reflexes of a puma, eyesight of an owl.” She cuts in, shrugging and forcing a smile in his direction. “Actually, if someone could train owls to talk they'd make the most amazing foreign correspondents. Imagine, they'd be reporting on a story, something would happen behind them, they'd spin their heads all the way around, and boom, straight into story number two. Not to mention how quick they'd be at leaping out of the line of fire when they needed to. I mean-”

“Mackenzie...” He says her name slowly, deliberately, dragging out the syllables the way he does when she knows he's trying to get her attention.

“What?” She shoots for nonchalance but it comes out sounding more like irritation and she sees a frown creep onto his face. “Come on, you know how my childhood was, I'm the daughter of a diplomat, I was trained from birth to spot danger from a mile away-”

“I know all that, but today was different and you know it.” He lets out a long sigh and she knows he's not going to let this drop until he gets an answer he's at least partly satisfied with. “We weren't even talking about work stuff, we were talking about the wedding, and you weren't even looking into the bullpen. It was like there was some kind of pull and you saw the explosion on that monitor almost the second it happened.”

“Luck, I guess,” she says, feeling cold suddenly and trying to suppress a shiver before he notices it. “I must have just glanced up at that exact moment. Sometimes the biggest stories come from a totally random stroke of luck, you know that as well as I do-”

“I do know that, but that wasn't what today was,” he says, his hand once again squeezing her shoulder. “Not to mention what just happened here. You told me yourself when we first got engaged that you haven't had nightmares in months, so what the hell just happened-”

“Alright, Will, drop it, please!” She doesn't mean to snap but she feels a ball of anxiety start to build in the pit of her stomach and she'd like to stop it from growing any bigger. “Look, I just...we've talked plenty about my time overseas, about what it was like, you have a pretty good idea of how it was. I guess two years of being under a constant threat of being blown up just makes a person more prone to noticing when something _does_ blow up, that's all.”

“Right.” He nods and his voice is tentative, gentle. “I didn't mean to push, I-”

“Yes you did,” she says, smiling and moving a hand to his thigh, resting it there. “It's okay.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes and she feels her heart rate slowly returning to normal as his arm around her serves as a reminder that her days out in the field are long gone, that she's here now, and it was just a nightmare.

“That really was the first thing that's triggered a nightmare in a long time,” she murmurs and turns to look up at him. “Which, considering I couldn't make it through a week without one when I first came to ACN, is pretty good going.”

“I'm glad,” he says, reaching for her face and running his thumb tenderly over her cheekbone. “That they've mostly gone, I mean.”

“Me too.” Her voice is barely a whisper as she remembers how exhausting it was to go to bed every night, not knowing if she was going to wake up a few hours later, drenched in sweat and in such a state of panic she genuinely questioned whether her heart could handle it. “I'm sorry I woke you.”

“Yeah, well, it was pretty fucking inconsiderate...” He rolls his eyes and she can't help smiling, knowing the last thing he'd have wanted her to do was to try and keep it quiet. “I mean, if you could maybe _try_ to keep it down just a little next time.”

“Can't make any promises,” she says, leaning up to kiss him, pushing her hand into his already messy hair, smiling again as she pulls back.

“You're okay?” He frowns, his eyes filled with concern as he looks into hers.

“I'm okay.” She nods and slides her hand down to rest on his chest. “I guess we should try to get some sleep.”

He shifts slightly and his hand moves to her cheek again, cupping her face as he kisses her, his fingers roaming slowly down her neck before coming to rest on her shoulder, pushing her gently back against the pillows. His kiss is slow and gentle, the kind of tired middle of the night kiss that she loves, and even though she knows they really should be trying to sleep, there's not a chance in hell she's going to protest this. Not when there's still a trickle of anxious tension running through her, a trickle she knows he can help distract her from. Her hands push into his hair again and she pulls him closer, her fingers tightening their grip when his tongue strokes softly over hers. When she feels his hand move from her shoulder to slip under her pyjama top she moans against his lips, and she feels her nipples tighten before his hand is anywhere near either of them. His kiss trails down her neck, his tongue warm on her skin, his touch soft as he reaches her collarbone. She feels his fingers fumble with the buttons of her top and she's about to stop him and just pull the damn thing off over her head when he succeeds enough to gain the access he wants.

His hand slides down her chest, his fingers moving lightly across her breasts, touching, stroking, teasing in their avoidance of her nipples, now hard and aching with anticipation. Lifting his face from her collarbone, he looks up at her, and when he licks his lips, slowly and deliberately, she feels a familiar warmth low in her abdomen and a rush of wetness between her legs. He flicks his tongue across her nipple and she lets out a low moan that becomes louder when he takes the nipple into his mouth and starts to gently suck on it, his tongue circling the hard peak. She writhes under him, trying to somehow quell the throbbing ache building in her core, and when he settles in between her legs she almost comes at just the feel of his hardness pressing against her.

“Harder, Billy,” she pants, wrapping her leg clumsily around his and grinding shamelessly against him, the layers of cotton between them serving as a strangely erotic challenge.

He knows exactly what she's asking for and he starts to suck harder on the nipple in his mouth, somehow managing to get a hand to the other, and she hears herself cry out, the sensation almost overwhelming. She pushes herself against him, wrapping her other leg around him, locking her feet behind his back to keep him in place. She starts to rub up and down, slowly enough that he can still keep his mouth where it is, the low, teasing speed only serving to turn her on even more, and him too, the evidence clear in his growing hardness. Her hands in his hair tighten their grip and his teeth scrape across her nipple, followed by a long, hard swipe of his tongue before he raises his head and looks at her, his eyes dark and sexy.

She unlocks her feet from behind him as he shifts and rolls off her. He reaches for her pyjama pants and pulls them slowly down, his fingertips tickling her skin as they move down her thighs. She watches as he hastily discards his own pants and then she pulls him back to her, bending her knees and parting her legs, squirming when she feels his hand move gently down to slide through her wetness. Adrenaline races through her, the nightmare having set her senses on edge, his touch keeping them that way, and all she wants is him inside her, so she reaches down and wraps her hand around his hard length, smirking at the strangled groan he lets out. He knows what she wants, nobody has ever been able to read her needs the way he does, and she's always going to love him for it, never more so than right now as he leans down to kiss her, rubs his nose against hers, and starts to slide slowly inside her.

Her hands move down his back, holding onto him, feeling his muscles move under her fingers. She savours the feel of him pushing into her, hard and deep, his breath warm against her neck as he moves inside her. She moans into his ear, he speeds up, and his hand slides under her, his fingers gently kneading her lower back. Tilting her hips almost instinctively, she feels his hand stroke slowly across her ass and around her hipbone, teasing her, roaming over her abdomen until he eventually moves it lower, pressing his thumb against her, causing a tingle to run through her like she's about to explode.

“Good?” His voice is low and his eyes are dark and intense as he looks at her, his thumb starting to make small circles as she bites her lip hard and manages to nod her answer.

He has the look in his eyes that she loves, the determined glint that says he won't be satisfied until she is, and there's no way he's going to come before she does, and shit, she loves him for his commitment to this particular cause, she really does. She's still wired, adrenaline coursing through her and arousal sending a flush from her cheeks right down to where his fingers are moving slowly, expertly against her. It takes about as little time as she suspected it would, and she finds herself moaning (possibly a little too loudly for the early hour...) as she comes hard against his hand, squirming under his touch, his thumb still pressed lightly in place as he starts to move inside her again.

She moves her hands higher up his back and pushes her fingers into his hair, dragging her nails lightly across the skin at the base of his neck, loving the faint shudder he gives in response. His eyes are closed but she wants him to look at her, she knows he loves nothing more than eye contact when he comes, and she loves how his blue eyes look totally different when he's right on the edge of release. Squeezing her muscles around him gets the desired reaction, and he groans her name as he opens his eyes and fixes his gaze firmly on her.

“Hey,” she murmurs, tangling her fingers more tightly in his hair and pulling him closer to her, running her tongue up his neck and feeling him drive deeper into her.

“Hey...” He blinks slowly, his hand moves to cup her face, and he runs his thumb across her bottom lip, his eyes widening when she captures it in her mouth and sucks gently, smiling up at him as she releases it. “Jesus, Mackenzie...”

Mesmerised by the darkening of his eyes and the increasing heaviness of his breathing, she sighs contentedly as he thrusts harder. Her sighs turn quickly into moans when he slides his hand onto her thigh, his fingers gripping her skin hard enough that she starts to excitedly anticipate the marks he's going to leave. He pushes into her with a final, faintly triumphant grunt, and she watches his eyes lose focus for just a second before he stills and she feels a gentle throbbing as he finishes deep inside her.

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down to her, craving the feel of his body covering hers, not ready yet for him to move. His head comes to rest in the crook of her neck, his lips soft and warm as he plants a lazy, slightly sloppy kiss on her skin.

“Nightmare firmly banished?” His voice is low and soft, his mouth tickling her skin and making her giggle.

“Nightmare...” She runs her hand tenderly through his hair, smiling and hoping he hears it in her voice. “What nightmare?”

They stay pressed against each other as long as they can until he eventually has to shift to slide out of her, rolling onto his side and reaching for her hand, clasping her fingers in his and smiling at her as she turns to face him. She watches him for a while but when her eyes start to feel heavy she knows she needs to force herself off the mattress and into the bathroom.

“Bathroom,” she says when she sits up and his hand refuses to let go. “I won't judge you if you're sleeping by the time I get back.”

She's surprised to see him still awake when she walks back into the room, his eyes following her as she heads over to where he's lying on his side, propped up on an elbow. She moves to lie beside him, pressing herself against him as he rolls onto his back, leaning up to place a kiss to the underside of his chin.

“Thank you.” She slides her hand under his t-shirt and shifts her head to rest on his chest.

“Wait...” He runs his fingers softly through her hair and she feels her eyes drift shut in response. “We're thanking each other for sex now?”

“No. I meant for everything before the sex, you nut!” She pauses, smiling faintly at his question. “But I'm certainly not _lacking_ in gratitude for the sex.”

“Well...you're welcome. On both counts,” he says, his voice laced with heavy tiredness. “So, we're probably going to be covering Boston pretty heavily for the rest of the week, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She sighs, unaware of exactly what the week may bring in terms of the story unfolding, but certain it _will_ bring them some pretty long days.

“Would you do something for me?” he asks, moving his fingers slowly through her hair again. 

“Of course. If I can.” She answers without question, her curiosity piqued.

“If it starts to get to you, just...tell me?” he says, pausing for just a second before he goes on. “Walk into my office and tell me you need a break, and we'll take one, we'll go get coffee or lock ourselves in the bathroom, or go to the park and look at the trees.”

“Look at the trees?” She's confused and she briefly wonders if she dozed off and missed a chunk of what he was saying.

“Or something else calming, or whatever, I guess,” he says, and she feels him shrug, his chest rising and falling under her cheek. “I'm just trying to...I don't know, I just figured if we can catch it before it takes hold then maybe we can beat the shit out of it before it turns into total fucking terror at four in the morning.”

“I think...the problem is that I didn't even know it had triggered anything in me until my subconscious decided to go nuts on me while I was sleeping.” She pauses, thinking about his suggestion. “But maybe now I realise this story _could_ be a bit of an issue, or not an issue as such, but something I should be...aware of...”

“Exactly.” He moves his hand lower down her back to rest in between her shoulder blades. “When you first came back, your therapist talked about how you could learn to read your anxiety, right? How to recognise when something didn't feel right and then pinpoint where that feeling was coming from?”

“You remember me telling you that?” She finds herself sitting up so she can see his face, surprised at his recall.

“I remember you yelling it at me in my office after the show one night, yeah,” he says with a smile. “I mean, at the time, I figured it was every single thing _I_ was doing that was triggering some awful fucking memory, I really didn't know the half of what you'd been through while you were embedded.”

“Could we just...back up a little bit?” she asks, watching as he nods. “Yes, my therapist helped me get better at recognising when something was more than I might be able to cope with, and yes, if covering Boston this week feels like it's bringing up some stuff I thought I'd dealt with then I'll...I'll tell you.”

“You promise?” He looks so earnest, so concerned, that she feels a sudden lump rise in her throat that she has to swallow down before she can answer.

“I promise,” she says, smiling at him before moving back into her original position pressed tightly against his chest. “Maybe something other than looking at trees though.”

“Alright.” He slides both arms around her and kisses the top of her head. “Doesn't have to be trees. Whatever works, okay?”

“Mmm, okay,” she murmurs, tiredness threatening to overtake her. “Go to sleep, Billy. It's going to be a long week and I can't put you on camera looking like one of the walking dead.”

“Fair enough” He slides his arms around her and kisses the top of her head, and she's almost asleep when she hears a muffled whisper into her hair. “I love you.”


End file.
